more of a voice

in memory of shmoke sifted heftlander.

 

 

 

 

Died. Beautiful

i've heard. The sweet full gallop

of the horse mosaic, each tiny squire

a morsel of another's soul. The way the

spine makes an L when you pick up,

all day, pecans with the Germans.

The cats under the warm house that

howl that absolute citadel siren,

the Mousti of a thousand nightlords,

announce your coming. I still love words. The way

they sing to me from the Yeats cages.

I am Lou Rawls in Picasso's "The Kiss"/

 

Was I as young, then, as Gordon Lightfoot

is old, now, full of ritual and folk annelid?

Am I as careful as the blind feeling for

corners, intersections? So much unlike

language poetry is, not ever the names of

children, mannerisms, rest. But more like

nightfall or the cold where you cant be alone.

 

never ran so hard as when your tigers

got behind me, then up a tree I went to

be patient of the passing. Sitting now in

the lap of perpetual transmigration. Tongues

in the eyesockets of the false heads of

a hydra. "The nimble blue plateaus",

that Orpheus charm, annoying yet bold.

 

I was told that the evidence of good

theatre is when the causalgia of the gay couple

is introduced. Help me brother. Help me

say goodby to you. Help me like you

helped me a thousand times. Show me

an honest tadpole, one who won't admit

to being anxious. That's silly dana,

thus blood really is a metaphor for

sacrifice. So F**k the internet.

F**k anyplace where you can love

so easily and mean it. In faint shadow

of the planets;

cant this theosophy tell

 

that human smell?

 

Reviews

[Marie Anzalone]

God, dana... you did the impossible- you captured John in poetry. I have been sitting, pen in motionless hand, since my sister and I learned the news in tandem and held each other across 2500 miles of distance or so, but your horse has crossed the finish line twice before mine even timidly entered the starting gate.

That line, about the tigers of him chasing us up trees. Yes, I felt that way too... like there was something so brilliant, Ark of Covenenet-like, that staring too long might burn us away. It was too intense, the words were too deep, too manhy layers of meaning... I kept reading him, thinking- if I ever got this good this good, I would drown. There is no other option.

I think people like him live at the edge to show us the way... and make it so that we do not have to.

Hard review, my friend. Harder write. I sit and wait if another also drowns, or finds his way back. We are the lamp post tenders because we know... next time, it might be us out there, alone in the dark.

[Emily B]

oh god, crying again

i think He's calling all the best angels home, it must really be the end of days

[writing mojo]

Oh my God did he die! What happen! let me know..I am at a loss of words...

[Rosalind Gale]

'The way the spine makes an L when you pick up'- Shhh, me love you.
Me too adore so, the Gordon Lightfoot, a deathly wordsmith.
Did I tell you that you make me joyful through your poetry?
This piece cackles and smiles, dies and lives. You were unknown to me a little while back. Now you kick my silly heart around, with your words and such. So happy.
-xx-

[jacob erin-cilberto]

there is something about the internet...but often i think the love is not meant...we can be anything or anyone we want to be here and who will know the difference...

i love the part about gordon lightffoot...

and lou rawls...

this piece puts me deep in thought...going in different directions..but upon more reads i will choose a road and go down to the end of it...

i haven't found too many honest tadpoles...a few frogs though...the truth won't scare them...they just rivet and move on...

[Corset]

it's perfect Dana, as only you could have done. (turns off the light, closes the door, walks down the hall)

[Ken Simm.]

This covers so much plularity. Covers so many corners. I couldn't possibly do it justice in a few words. Each line speaks volumes to me, my memories, my thoughts. You are a mind reader Dana and this is the film of it. I see that it is in tribute to a wonderful poet. The fact that you have made it so universal is in itself a tribute

[Marie Anzalone]

I will come back and review when I am able to write again.

[Emily B]

i wanted to write an elegy to him today. i couldn't go near it. i stayed busy. i cut and sewed. i studied the circles of antique laces. i couldn't put words together for what he meant to me.

my eyes are moist. the tears stop there. last night they rolled uncontrollably waterfalls or rain storms

no more collaborations with my soul brother, no more merging of words until we became one poet

I've got a lot of catching up to do around here, i am truly apologetic for staying away so long

p.s. i love you, dana